


The Opposite of Overrated

by AmyTheEleventh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Lacrosse, M/M, No Werewolves, Soulmate AU, everyone sees in black and white until they meet their soulmate, new kid, stiles and scott are best friends no matter what universe everyone go away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyTheEleventh/pseuds/AmyTheEleventh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is completely content to live his life in black and white, although he could do without Scott’s gentle ribbing about his color choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Opposite of Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> [Based on this awesome AU idea from tumblr.](http://theeleventhamy.co.vu/post/83953539182/au-where-everything-is-black-and-white-until-you)

“Dude!” Stiles looked up from his spot on the lacrosse bleachers and saw Scott running towards him, nothing but a black and white blur.

“Dude,” Stiles answered less urgently, moving his Physics book so Scott could sit beside him. Scott dropped his backpack on the grass and stepped over the first two rows, avoiding the messy pile of note cards on the seats in front of Stiles. “What’s up? I thought you were studying with Allison during lunch today?”

“That was the _plan_ ,” Scott replied, clearly agitated. “At least until I heard coach talking to _Derek fucking Hale_ in the locker room. By the way, please save my eyesight and never wear an orange shirt with pink plaid ever again.”

“ _Derek Hale_?” Stiles sputtered, completely ignoring Scott’s comment on his color choices. There were about seven people in the entire school who could see in color anyway, including Scott and Allison. What did it matter his clothes clashed sometimes? The whole ‘seeing in color’ thing was overrated, anyway. “That asshole from Mackwood?”

Derek Hale was a bit infamous among the Beacon Hills lacrosse team as a Class A dick. He had managed to injure – purposely, no doubt - no less than seven of their players last season, including Danny, who had to sit out five games while his ribs healed; Derek had stick checked him _hard_ under the chest after Danny had scored against him, cracking four ribs and causing one of the longest time outs in Beacon Hills history while the ambulance carried Danny off and the assistant coach and Danny’s dad argued with Mackwood’s coach about the penalties Derek deserved for that. All the while, Derek stood off to the side with his team mates, laughing as if he hadn’t caused a teenage boy massive pain.

Scott and Stiles had thanked the lacrosse gods after every game that they had walked away unscathed.

Scott nodded. “I was in there to grab my phone charger out of my locker and they walked in talking. He’s transferred here for his senior year ‘cause his mom’s the new nurse.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Stiles muttered, shoving his Physics homework into his backpack. “So now _we’re_ gonna be the team with the homicidal maniac for an attacker.”

“No,” Scott said, shaking his head vigorously. “We’re gonna be the team with the homicidal maniac for a _captain_.” Stiles yelped and his backpack fell off his lap, contents spilling out onto the metal bleachers. It was a mark of the how serious the situations was that Scott didn’t laugh.

“Dude, you can’t be serious!” Stiles was almost screaming. “You and Jackson are our captains! And he’s new! Why does the new kid get to be captain?!”

“Because Mackwood’s won the championship for the past two years,” Scott replied, bending down to grab Stiles’ wallet and handing it over to him. “Coach is going to make the announcement before practice today. He’s keeping me as goalie and moving Jackson to midfield so that Derek becomes an attacker.” Stiles groaned.

“So, basically,” he said, flailing a bit with the zippers on his backpack. “We’re fucked?” Scott only groaned in response.  

-

At practice that afternoon, everything Scott said turned out to be true; Jackson has obviously been told beforehand that his captain status had been taken from him, because he was storming around the locker room looking like he was going to commit mass homicide. When coach called Scott to the front and introduced Derek Hale to the team as their new teammate and captain, Stiles shot Scott a sympathetic grimace from the back of the crowd.

And Derek Hale himself? He was as terrifying up close as he seemed through a lacrosse helmet; Stiles couldn’t even bring himself to look into his face. Derek’s expression as coach introduced him was bored and angry, and he gave no reaction to the halfhearted applause the team gave at the announcement, besides crossing his arms and giving a low grunt, looking anywhere except at his new teammates.

Coach gauged the situation for a moment before slapping his hands on Derek and Scott’s shoulders and looking proudly out over his team, oblivious to the thick tension in the room. “Gonna be a fantastic season, boys, I feel it in my teeth. Now get out there, it’s Suicides Monday.” There was a collective groan as everyone gathered their equipment and Finstock walked out of the locker room with his arm slung over Derek’s shoulders, one hand moving animatedly as he spoke.

Scott blew out a harsh stream of air through his nose as Stiles handed him his crosse.

“We’re super fucked.”

-

Coach – blessedly – cut suicides short that afternoon, eager to see his new arrangements in action.

“Scrimmage,” he barked, and most of the team fell into formation, save for Derek, who paused for a minute to stare at the team before taking position on what would be the opponent’s side of the field. Stiles was fully prepared to take his place on the bench, but a cold stare from coach stopped him in his tracks.

“Stilinski,” he snapped. “You’re taking Lahey’s spot today, next to Hale.” Stiles felt his eyes get wide in sudden fear, but the expression on coach’s face stopped him from arguing. He shook it off and picked up his crosse, jogging to take stance beside Derek, if not slightly behind him. He could feel Derek’s eyes on him, but he stared straight ahead, waiting for coach’s whistle.

After practice got going, Stiles had to admit – going up against a maniac and having one on your team were two totally different experiences. Not that he was particularly watching Derek or anything; just that you tend to notice when 200 pounds of pure hulking muscle was making a visible effort not to kill any of the comparatively smaller guys on the team.

Stiles also had to admit – as shocked as he was – Derek was shaping up to be not a bad captain. Every couple of minutes he would stop to consult Scott about something or correct the technique of some terrified sophomores in a completely non-terrifying way, which seemed to confuse everyone, but helped in the end.

As the scrimmage match came to an end, coach blew his whistle and called the team to the center of the field, proudly situating Derek and Scott on either side of him, with what could only be considered a dopey smile on his face.

Coach took a deep breath before he spoke. “You smell that, boys? That’s the smell of victory. We are gonna kick Mackwood’s ass year. No offense, Hale,” he tacked on, squeezing Derek’s shoulder. Derek looked at him and gave him something close to a smile.

“None taken.” The team murmured in response, having warmed up to their once enemy. Stiles even cracked a grin up at Scott, who smiled gently in response.

“Fantastic,” coach said, grinning maniacally. “Do the captains have anything to say?” Scott shook his head and looked at Derek, who shrugged.

“Just that I’m glad to be here and I hope we have a great season.” The almost-smile appeared on Derek’s face again – his incredibly _attractive_ face, Stiles noticed vaguely for the first time– and there was a muttering of consent from the team.

“That just warms the cockles of my heart, boys, really it does.” Coach let out a short laugh. “Now get the hell out of here. I can’t stand any of you.” The laughing and muttering got louder at that, and the group slowly began to disperse. Stiles jogged over to grab his Adidas bag while he waited for Scott to finish talking to coach. He could hear some of the guys tossing the lacrosse ball back and forth behind him as he pulled his phone out, intending to text his dad that he’d be home soon. He’d just sent the text off when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around and came eye to eye with the one and only Derek Hale.

“Derek, hey-” he started, but didn’t get to finish. There was a blinding pain on the side of his head, followed by a couple curses and the sound of his name being shouted from the field.

“Shit,” he mumbled, feeling his knees give out as he brought a hand up to the point of impact. Before he could hit the ground, he felt an arm wrap around his waist tightly and a hand grab his forearm, guiding him downward. There was a whooshing sound in his ears, and he strained to hear the quiet, frantic whispers above him.

He’s not totally sure how long he sat there, but by the time he came around he could hear coach in the distance yelling at someone – several someones? – while two people breathed shallowly above his head. Stiles groaned at his tried to sit up, realizing he’d been leaning against somebody’s damp lacrosse jersey.

“Ssscott?” He slurred, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter, trying to stave off the oncoming headache.

“I’m right here, buddy,” Scott said quietly behind him, resting a hand on the back of his neck.

Wait. That wasn’t right. If Scott was behind him, then who was Stiles…?

He began to struggle against the arms holding him down, eyes still shut tight as he moved himself into the grass.

“Stiles?” asked a voice that took a moment to register. Stiles searched for a minute. Derek Hale, that’s right, their new captain…

“Yeah?” he groaned out. Jesus Christ, his head hurt. He cracked his eyes open, and immediately shut them again when his retinas were assaulted with color.

Wait.

_Color?_

“SHIT!” he shouted, scrambling backwards, managing only to fall on his back, head in the grass.

“Stiles…?” Scott sounded weary, worried. “What’s-”

“Nothing,” Stiles answered immediately, keeping his eyes shut as he lifted his chin towards the sky. “Give me a second.” Stiles could feel himself shaking. He took several deep breaths in, trying to calm his heart rate.

“Um… Stiles?” There was Derek’s voice again. Stiles noticed he sounded absolutely... terrified? “Maybe we should-” Stiles immediately sat up and tried opening his eyes again, slower this time.

The first thing he saw was Derek; Derek with his big green eyes and glossy black hair and tanned skin still flushed red from practice and stark white teeth hiding underneath parted pink lips. Stiles felt his eyes grow even wider as he took in all the colors in a world he had become so used to in black and white – the silver of the lacrosse bleachers, the squished green grass, the deep blue of the sky that was slowly disappearing behind puffy white clouds as the big orange sun behind Derek’s head began its descent down the horizon, the maroon and white uniform jerseys that Derek and Scott were both currently wearing and Scott –

“Oh my God,” Stiles said, switching back and forth from Derek’s face to Scott’s. “You guys are – so – oh my God…” Stiles tried to stand, struggling just a bit to get to his feet. Derek and Scott seemed to instinctively reach to steady him. Stiles finally got to his feet and looked around himself, only to end up back on the ground again in front of Derek, who was still on his knees from when Stiles fell. “And you!” Stiles said accusingly, wrapping a hand around the back of Derek’s neck. There was no sting in his voice. “I have never told anyone this before,” Stiles took a large gulp of breath, “But you have the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen.” Derek looked up at Scott, somewhat alarmed, but broke out into a large smile not a second later.

“Have you seen your own?” Derek asked charmingly, bringing his arm back around Stiles’ waist. Stiles laughed delightedly. Scott coughed covertly behind them, and they looked up just in time to see coach hurrying over to them.

“Oh, God, Stilinski are you oka- Oh, what the hell! Not again!” Coach broke off midsentence when he saw the state that Derek and Stiles were in, looking a bit put out. “Oh for the love of God,” he grumbled as he turned around to walk away. “Like father, like son. I swear to God I’ll never forgive John for losing our championship in…”  Stiles looked back at Scott, who immediately let out a huge laugh at Finstock’s reaction. Stile joined him, turning his attention back to… _his Derek_. Who was watching him with sparkling green eyes as Stiles laughed, a small smile on his face.

“Hi,” Stiles said lamely when he was able to stop chuckling. “I’m Stiles Stilinski. I think I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with you.” He grinned throughout the whole sentence, fully aware of how perfect cheesy it was. Derek laughed, though, pink blush twinging his cheeks.

“Hey,” he said, bringing a hand to rest in Stiles’ hair. “I’m Derek Hale. I would be so lucky.” Stiles grinned, biting his lip, feeling the blood rush to his face, knowing that under porcelain pale skin he was probably incredibly red, but he didn’t care.

The whole seeing in color thing was definitely not overrated, now that he thought about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Really hoped everyone enjoyed this one! I really love the idea, and later on when I have more time I may expand on it.


End file.
